


The Only Constant

by Twobit_scribbles



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Introspection, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:39:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5189027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twobit_scribbles/pseuds/Twobit_scribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only thing constant in this life is change.</p>
<p>or</p>
<p>Ja'far has changed. </p>
<p>Spoiler warning for Magi chapter 285.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Constant

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by musings from murasakihime and dragonofeternal of tumblr, go check out their posts!

He’s never worn sleeves so tight in all his life. The knives he keeps hidden in them are too thin, too light. They cannot fly through the air. They cannot pierce armor. They cannot cut deep enough. 

The thin scars spiraling up and down his arms, etched in too deep to disappear completely, are he has left of them now. He can hardly remember a time when they were not wrapped around his arms. Wrapped for hatred, thrown for murder, wrapped for caution, thrown for defense, wrapped for practicality, thrown for irrationality, wrapped for loyalty, thrown for the same reason. Baal’s trust, Sinbad’s magoi, his own skill, all gone from him like the weight around his arms. 

His hands are curled again, dammit all. Even after so long without them, he forgets himself. His arms still move to conceal his mouth with the fabric that is no longer there. His fingers still search for absent wires to grasp. But there are no baggy sleeves to hide his movements now; they are on display for the whole world to see.

Sindria’s robes were the only garments he had worn for so long. He had worn them with pride as a testament to the nation the majority of his life had been spent building, maintaining, and helping flourish. But he is not a part of Sindria any more, and he no longer has any right to them. 

He has nothing from those days now, nothing but the ruby pendent that still sits comfortably on his brow. His last precious possession. Sinbad himself had given it to him, a gift for the official announcement of his position as advisor. All the pride and love he felt in that moment could not have been put into words. He’d worn it proudly ever since. 

Sinbad had given him another ruby pendant along with his new clothes and new position. The gesture still felt hollow. What pride was there in being a general manager? What good are his accounting skills if they are not used to benefit the people that depended on him? What good are the skills of his shameful past if he has no weapon to wield to protect the ones he loves? 

The new timekeepers tick on and on, unceasing. No bells ring musically, announcing time slowly and steadily. Time is no longer so abstract. Every single second is recorded now; so every second must be planned, scheduled, and squeezed to the last drop for the sake of efficiency. His days are overburdened, his life is encompassed by meaningless duties. 

His office windows are closed; the wind is too harsh and vicious this at this altitude. Even if he could open them, he doesn’t want to. The feeling of humid tropical air and cool, seas-smelling breezes are nothing but memories. The sound of citizens going about their days is foreign and strange. He remains in this glacial tower, locked away from people that have no need of the reassuring presence of generals.

No one is left to distract him from his work. Yamuraiha and Sharrkan’s arguments and Spartos’s whispered prayers do not echo in theses halls. His papers (not scrolls, not anymore) lay undisturbed by the curious hands of Pisti. The weight of Hinahoho’s fatherly stare and the sound of Drakon’s disapproving chides cannot reach him here. They are all scattered to the wind, no longer a household, no longer a family. 

But this day does bring distraction in the form of familiar face; one he was convinced he would never see again. Alibaba’s _resurrection_ nearly scares the life out of him, but the smile on his face is genuine for the first time in an age. The boy is overjoyed to see him as well, and happily comments that in a world so changed and strange, ”Ja’far-san has not changed at all!”

He feels his smile freeze upon his face. 

How on earth can someone like Alibaba, who has seen so much, still act so childish sometimes? 

Alibaba looks at him and sees only the Ja’far that doted on him years ago; a familiar face, a port in this new storm. He sees nothing of the horrible, conniving man who has dirtied his hands over and over again, ever since he was a child. He sees nothing of the miserable man heartsick for his home, but unwilling to return to it. He sees nothing of the former advisor turned general manager, flailing in his new role, praying to gods he doesn’t believe in that he is doing the right thing. 

Unbidden, the words he himself spoken long ago echo in his ears, _this is the path you chose and things will inevitably change you don’t have any choicebuttoproceedforward!_

“Thank you!” He finally manages. His voice is too cheery, but his smile is practically perfect. Rurumu had taught him that trick. He puts on her best smile, and her sister- in-law’s best smirk, and presses on.

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed Ja’far seemed to keep his hands curled all throughout the chapter. I didn’t mention Masrur because I’m convinced he’s still with Sinbad and Ja’far somewhere, and I couldn’t wait to find out next chapter because I am impatient.  
> I’m in a mood recently. Gah! This got all purple prose-y on me, dammit. Ended up vague, disconnected and float-y. Please send me your criticisms and help me improve!


End file.
